


Right Number

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Imagine Tony & Bucky [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Has a Normal Prosthetic, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Phonecalls and Text Messages, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Right Number, Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Wrong number
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Prompt: The <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3576705">story with Bucky dialing the wrong number</a> and talking to Tony for hours--would anyone be interested in writing the first date--Can totally see Bucky keep and eye out for Tony trying to imagine what he looks like. Could see him feeling ashamed of himself for getting turned on by this attractive guy who keeps catching his eye for some reason but he doesn't realize is Tony until he first hears him speak.</span>
</p><p>Steve was waiting as soon as he stepped out of his room, arms folded across his chest, an eyebrow arched, every last inch of him screaming, “I’m standing my ground.”</p><p>“What?” Bucky went to step around him, but Steve just darted right in his way.</p><p>“You know what.”</p><p>“This again?”</p><p>“C’mon, Buck, it’s been almost a month,” Steve pointed out, dodging and weaving so that Bucky couldn’t get around him. “Just ask the guy out already.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Number

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted over on [imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/). Be sure to stop on over and also enjoy the amazing contributions of [Potrix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix), [27dragons](http://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons), [InnerCinema](http://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema), and [kamaete](http://kamaete.tumblr.com/)!

Steve was waiting as soon as he stepped out of his room, arms folded across his chest, an eyebrow arched, every last inch of him screaming, “I’m standing my ground.”

“What?” Bucky went to step around him, but Steve just darted right in his way.

“You know what.”

“This again?”

“C’mon, Buck, it’s been almost a month,” Steve pointed out, dodging and weaving so that Bucky couldn’t get around him. “Just ask the guy out already.”

“Things are fine the way they are,” Bucky insisted, feinting to the left only to spin to the right at the last second, jumping over their coffee table in order to make his escape. “Now lemme get to group.”

Steve groaned, trotting after him. “Fine is fine, Buck, but it could be  _great_ ,” he pointed out, “or amazing! You don’t even have to worry about all the awkward getting to know you first date stuff.”

Bucky grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door, shoving them in his pocket while simultaneously trying to shove aside his emotional response to Steve’s suggestion. “S’not that simple,” he muttered, sighing when Steve hurled himself against the door in an attempt to keep him from leaving.

“Why not? You’re both single. You already know he’s dated guys, and isn’t looking for a one night stand. You like him, he obviously likes you.”

Which was all true.

The problem was, he didn’t just like Tony, he  _liked_  Tony. As in, the first thing he did every morning was check his phone for text messages from the guy—he kept crazy hours and it wasn’t uncommon to wake and find hilarious, one-sided conversations waiting for him—and if there wasn’t already a message there, he sent one to start the day right.

The messages would continue over the course of the day, so by the time they called each other in the evening, Bucky already knew how many cups of coffee Tony had had, what he’d eaten for lunch, how many times he’d gotten stuck in the elevator with someone, and the number of people he’d infuriated or enraged simply by being his charming self.

Bucky had somehow wound up appointing himself Tony’s de facto sponsor, so a lot of those messages were a ploy to help distract Tony from what he really wanted to do, which was have a drink. Which was good, really, because knowing this kept Bucky from convincing himself he was bothering Tony, or Tony was just putting up with him out of pity.

It wasn’t all one sided, either. Bucky shared his daily frustrations and triumphs as well, Tony always knowing how to cheer him up when his tendency to think the worst of a situation threatened to get the best of him.

He’d started working again, mostly because Tony encouraged him to go talk to a group dedicated to helping disabled veterans get jobs. Steve felt the need to remind him he and Sam and countless others had suggested the same thing, but it wasn’t until Tony had come along that he’d actually done it.

Group was going better, too. Just the week before Sam had taken him aside to comment on his improved outlook, much to his surprise.

All day every day, it was Tony on his mind, on his phone, and they still somehow found something to talk about every night.

If they’d been dating, none of their behavior would even be considered weird, which was something Steve felt the need to point out to him on a regular basis. 

Except they  _weren’t_ dating. He didn’t know Tony’s last name, and Tony didn’t know his, each of them agreeing to hold onto that little tidbit of information back when they’d first started talking. He knew Tony had panic attacks, and had even talked him through a couple of them. The family friend who turned out not to be so friendly was facing embezzlement charges, and Tony was still dealing with the stress surrounding the fallout.

For his part, Tony knew all about Bucky’s mood swings and nightmares, had answered the phone in the wee hours more than once, and whispered soothing, calming words into Bucky’s ear as he wept.

Despite all of that, Bucky wouldn’t be able to pick the guy out of a line up, because he’d never seen him.

He knew Tony was on the short side, with dark hair and dark eyes, that he had facial hair, and glasses, and liked fancy suits. Tony knew he was taller, with blue eyes, that he tended to work his frustrations out in the gym, so he was still in good physical condition, despite the whole disability discharge and missing arm thing. But that wasn’t much, considering Bucky could tell how stressed Tony was by where he paused in a sentence, and Tony could immediately pick up on his mood just by how he answered the phone.

Bucky sometimes found himself searching crowds with the vague description in the back of his mind, knowing deep down that he and Tony could have passed on the street countless times without ever realizing how close they’d been to each other.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to know what Tony looked like. He did. It’d certainly make his jerkoff sessions seem less pathetic. Currently, he had one saved voicemail from Tony that had an embarrassingly high play count.

_Hmm, not picking up the phone? I’m heartbroken, soldier, absolutely wrecked. This is all part of your evil plan, isn’t it? Get me hooked on that sweet, sweet conversational mojo you got working, then once I’m jonesing for the sound of your voice, you’re nowhere to be found. Don’t do me like that, baby, pick up! Wait, I forget, are you old enough to remember actual answering machines? If not, I sound insane right now. More so than usual, that is. Anyway, enough of my nonsense, just wanted to let you know I survived the flight, and arrived in London safe and sound. I’ll talk to you later, Bucky-boo. Bye._

He’d jerked off with that playing on loop so many times now that he was worried he was going to develop some sort of pavlovian response to Tony’s voice and choice of words. Maybe they’d finally meet one day, and Tony would say, “Don’t do me like that, baby,” and Bucky’d embarrass himself by immediately coming in his pants.

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Stevie,” Bucky growled, feeling his good mood going down the drain.

“Just, do me a favor,” Steve said, holding his hands up placatingly, “think about it.”

Bucky laughed at this, and gave Steve a kiss on the forehead before carefully shoving him aside so he could get out the door. “Fine.”

Which wasn’t even a lie, because he already thought about it. Every day he thought about it. Someone with a laugh like Tony’s had to have a killer smile to go with it, and it’d be pretty nice to have a face to put with the sexy voice.

But, what if?

What if they agreed to go on a date, and one of them wound up disappointed? Tony acted like Bucky’s missing arm wasn’t a big deal, but he didn’t have to see the scars, or the prosthetic, or the way people stared at him when he  _didn’t_  wear the prosthetic.

Or, hell, what if the real world Tony didn’t come anywhere close to living up to the fantasy version Bucky had built in his head? And then neither of them felt comfortable seeing each other again? Which would mean an end to the phone calls, and texts, and all the good and wonderful things he’d been feeling since that wrong number had magically turned into the right number.

As it stood now, things were safe. Tony lived in some wonderful hybrid of imagination and reality, where he could make Bucky feel desirable, cared about, and less alone. He didn’t want to risk losing what they had.

“Promise?” Steve asked before the door closed.

“Yeah, pal, I promise.”

+

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, and tried to make himself less conspicuous. As per Steve’s instructions, he’d dressed nice, which meant he’d shaved, and was wearing the one and only suit he owned. It just so happened to be the same one he’d worn to job interviews, so that was part of why he felt so awkward. The rest of it was just down to his surroundings.

Steve’s work was being displayed in an actual honest to god art show in Manhattan, which was a big deal. Being the good, supportive friend that he was, Bucky had swallowed all of his complaints about being trapped in the city with a bunch of highbrow artsy types, put on his suit, and shown up at the appointed time.

Only, Steve understandably had to work the room, engage with the other artists and some of the big money types, in case they decided to buy one of his pieces. Which meant Bucky was wandering around, trying not to groan over some of the conversations he was overhearing, wondering how long he had to stay before he could sneak out without hurting Steve’s feelings.

“You can really feel the artist’s emotions in the way the shadows play across the table,” a woman explained, hoity toity accent making Bucky’s eye twitch.

The guy standing next to her must have noticed, because he pulled a face while she wasn’t looking, caught Bucky’s eye and tipped his head her way, mouthing, “seriously?”

Despite himself, Bucky snorted, then covered it with a cough when she turned to look at him. Moving onto another painting, he couldn’t resist glancing back over his shoulder, a little thrill of surprise running through him when he realized the guy was checking him out. He smiled, but then looked away, feeling guilty and conflicted.

The guy was just his type. A little on the short side, with artfully messy dark hair, pretty eyes, and a great smile. Like everyone else, he was all dressed up, but he was at ease in the fancy clothes in a way Bucky found enviable, the tie loosened and ever so slightly askew, yet still somehow looking completely put together. Really, he was just all around fucking gorgeous, and Bucky could feel him checking out his ass, which was flattering, but…

He fished out his phone, and sent off a message.

_Sorry again about having to push back our call tonight. The art thing is a nightmare, but at least it’s catered._

Bucky spotted Steve schmoozing across the room, and quickly slapped a smile on his face. The last thing he wanted was for Stevie to worry about him on his big night. While he was smiling, the hot guy wandered past, hands behind his back, and Bucky allowed his eyes to linger, just for a moment. And maybe another moment after that. He was only human, and this guy had the sort of ass you just wanted to…

His pocket vibrated, and he tore his eyes away from the guy’s perky bottom, grinning to see Tony’s reply.

_I haven’t eaten in at least two hours and am ready to kill someone. Are there pigs in a blanket, or is it bullshit catering?_

Biting into his lower lip in order to hide his stupid smile, Bucky looked around until he spotted one of the caterers. He scanned the tray, shaking his head when offered an hourderve, then replied to Tony.

_Looks like some sort of pâté. Puke. Also something weird in a spoon that may or may not be snot._

Bucky’s stomach grumbled, and he wondered if Steve would care if he snuck out for a slice. He started making his way over to his friend, but not before noticing the hot guy was now wearing glasses, which only made him hotter.

Unable to help himself, he detoured to that part of the gallery, checking out a somewhat confusing collection of photographs someone had in the show, trying to figure out why anyone would want to take so many photos of chickens.

_What do people have against good food at these sorts of things? Just once, I’d like to go to a gallery opening and have someone offer me a fucking cheeseburger._

Bucky laughed out loud when he read the message, and could feel the hot guy turn to look at him. Sure, it was flattering, maybe even a little tempting to say hello, but who the hell was he kidding? He was already crazy over Tony, and nice as it was to get checked out, no way could this handsome stranger compare to the little thrill of joy he got each time his phone vibrated in his pocket with a new message from Tony.

_Right? Do you think Steve would be embarrassed if I just shouted, “Who do I have to blow to get a slice of pizza around here?”_

With a sigh, Bucky shoved his phone back in his pocket, and tried to pick Steve out of the crowd. He’d just given the hot guy’s ass one last look of longing, and headed around the corner when he heard it. A laugh. A giggle, really, with a bit of a snort, and some wheeze to it, but Bucky would know that laugh anywhere, because it was one of his favorite sounds in the whole world.

He held his breath, clenching his phone in his pocket, unable to move, paralyzed by fear and confusion and hope and  _confusion_.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, no, uh, not laughing at your work, although, really,  _chickens_? No, strike that, I take that back, that is rude and incredibly wrong of me to say, no matter how confusing I find your so called art.”

Bucky forced his mouth to close again, as he peered around the corner, unable to believe what he was hearing, and then unable to believe what he was seeing. The hot guy—the incredibly hot guy that had been checking him out—was holding his phone up like it was a shield, and having an increasingly awkward conversation with one of the artists.

The distinctive cadence, the warm, playful voice. It was Tony, it was definitely Tony,  _his Tony_. Right there, in the same room as him. And now, suddenly, he could see all the beautiful, wonderful ways Tony’s hands and face and the rest of him moved in time with his words. Bucky couldn’t stop staring at Tony’s mouth, and his eyes, and…

“No, of course, rude, definitely rude of me, and I apologize,” he continued, trying to be heard over the artist’s increasingly loud complaints. The tips of his ears were pink, and as Bucky watched, he fiddled with his phone, never breaking eye contact with the irate woman.

Bucky’s pocket vibrated.

He pulled out his phone.

_please please if you care at all save me_

Which meant this wasn’t some freak accident, or another twist of fate. Tony  _knew_  he was there. When Tony had been checking him out, it wasn’t because he’d thought Bucky was a good looking stranger with a suspiciously stiff left arm, it was because he’d known it was Bucky.

Which was wonderful, and terrifying, and he squeezed his phone tighter, and swallowed around his panic. He could run, or pretend not to know what Tony was talking about, see if things could go back to the way they were before. Back to safety, and distance. Back to playing pretend, and imagining, and…

As he watched, Tony’s expression shifted, and not because of the browbeating he was receiving over his behavior. He glanced at his phone, then shoved it back in his pocket, shoved both hands in his pockets, shoulders slumping and mouth quirking to the side. He would have seen that the text message had been read. Tony had to have come to the conclusion that Bucky wasn’t going to help, that after all this time, and mystery, he’d finally gotten a look at Tony and decided he didn’t like what he saw.

Which meant Bucky was responsible for the disappointment Tony was trying desperately not to show.

“There you are,” he said, pushing his way through the crowd that had formed. Tony’s eyes lit up hopefully as he lifted his head, and saw Bucky standing there.

“Excuse you!” the artist snapped.

Bucky gave her his very best ‘fuck you’ smile, then slid his arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Sorry, lady, he was traumatized by a chicken once. Don’t take it personal.”

She opened her mouth in confusion, not sure how to respond, but Tony didn’t give her a chance. “Exactly, very traumatized. Beaks and feathers!” he shuddered theatrically. “But don’t worry, I’m in therapy now.”

“Time for your pills, Tony,” Bucky said, grinning down at him. “If you’ll excuse us,” he added before dragging Tony away.

Bucky headed straight for the door, ignoring Tony’s protests about needing his coat. Once they were outside, and no longer blocking the entrance, he whirled on the smaller man.

“What’re you doing here?” Tony opened his mouth, then frowned and snapped it shut again. It was crazy, actually seeing his face,  _seeing_  his eyes. “Sorry, that,  _fuck_ , that sounded angry, it was supposed to be more like,” he took a deep breath, exhaled, then tried again, putting all his excitement and fear and hope right in his voice. “What’re you doing here?”

Slowly, a smile spread across Tony’s face— good god damn what a smile—and he shrugged, looked up at Bucky through his lashes. “A friend of yours might have, ah, tattled. Called and told me about the show, and that you were going to be here.”

“That little shit!”

Tony laughed at this, so Bucky joined in, feeling his nervousness coming and going in waves, leaving him terrified and thrilled all at the same time. This was happening, it was finally happening!

"Wait, I thought you had a beard?"

Tony shuffled sort of awkwardly and adorably, and it made Bucky feel better. He wasn’t the only nervous one. “Uh, well, for some reason I was convinced you’d recognize me right away, so I shaved.”

Bucky frowned. “So, what, you wanted to be able to sneak out if I was a dud?”

Tony laughed again. It was distracting, being able to see his face and hear his voice at the same time. “Not if  _you_  were a dud, more like… Shit, okay. That little scene I caused back there? That sort of thing happens a lot when I open my mouth in public.”

Bucky watched, fascinated, as Tony sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, and looked around the busy street.

"Chickening out might have crossed my mind," he answered after a moment. "Not because of you, though. Well, okay, that’s not true, exactly, but not for the reasons you’re thinking." Tony’s eyes darted, meeting Bucky’s gaze for a moment before he lowered them again, lips curled in an oddly vulnerable sort of sultry smile. "You failed to mention you’re gorgeous, by the way."

"Yeah, well, you never told me what an amazing ass you have, so we’re even." Tony’s face lit up, his head tipping back as he laughed. "See, that’s gonna be a problem," Bucky said softly. "Now that I’ve seen your smile, I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to just talking on the phone."

And would you look at that! Tony was a blusher. Wasn’t that just a treat?

“Does this mean you’ll let me buy you dinner?” Tony asked, taking a step closer. “For some reason I can’t stop thinking of pizza.” Bucky fought his own smile, and failed, his stomach fluttering pleasantly as he stared down into Tony’s warm brown eyes.

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky agreed, tilting his head in the direction of the doors. “How ‘bout you grab your coat, and I’ll let Steve know.”

It didn’t escape his notice that Tony brushed against him on the way back in, and even if he’d tried to ignore it, the man winked at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. Bucky swallowed, and rushed over to Steve.

“Told you so,” Steve said as soon as he spotted Bucky. He laughed a moment later when Bucky pulled him into a hug, and dropped a kiss on the top of his head.

“You’re a punk,” Bucky insisted, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“He’s cute,” Steve poked Bucky in the side, then squirmed out of his grasp.

"I think you mean sexy," Bucky corrected quietly as Tony approached, slinging his arm back around Steve’s shoulders. "Tony, this is Steve," he said, liking the way Tony stepped right up to shake Steve’s hand.

"Nice to finally meet you," he said. "This guy might have mentioned you once or twice."

"Thanks," Steve answered, ducking out from under Bucky’s arm. "You’ve come up in conversation a few times yourself."

"I’m digging the water colors. That’s a thinking man’s technique right there," Tony said, surprising Bucky. "Are you a closet tactician?"

"Maybe."

Tony smirked. “Uh huh. Maybe, says the guy who orchestrated this entire surprise encounter. I’m onto you Rogers.”

Steve laughed at this, and the look he gave Bucky spoke volumes. “Yeah, well, don’t go spoiling my well laid plans. Do me a favor? Keep this knucklehead out of trouble tonight, and maybe feed him or something while you’re at it.”

Bucky gasped, pointing at himself, feigning innocence and deep offense over Steve’s words.

To his surprise and delight, Tony’s hand found a home against the small of his back, and he felt himself being gently led away.

"Happy to oblige," he answered smoothly, and just like that, Bucky found himself on a date.

+

The pizza was the best pizza he’d ever had, even though it was greasy and kind of horrible. Slices and paper plates, overly syrupy fountain soda, and Tony sitting across from him in a booth patched with duct tape. Bucky never wanted it to end.

For the first time since deploying, Bucky actually felt at ease on a date. He and Tony had talked about the arm a lot, and as a result he didn’t have to sit there and wonder what the person across from him was thinking, as far as that went. Tony didn’t seem to pay much attention to the prosthetic at all, but there was nothing forced or phony about it—Bucky was reminded of the acceptance he’d always felt spending time with Steve, or Sam. It was a relief.

It was strange how little they talked at first, considering how much of their relationship up until that point had relied solely on words. Now that they were face to face, Bucky found himself captivated by Tony’s body language, and expressiveness. Just wanted to watch his hands, his mouth, his eyes. Tony seemed content to do the same, which meant they spent a lot of time staring at each other while they ate, grinning like idiots.

"Okay, I get the feeling you’re not going to ask, so, masochist that I am, I’ll do it," Tony said after they’d finished eating. He leaned back in the booth, arm stretched along the back, looking relaxed, although Bucky knew better. To his trained ear Tony’s voice gave everything away.

"I’m not disappointed," he said preemptively. "And I’m definitely interested in seeing where this goes. So, if you don’t feel the same…"

Tony’s smile was bright and easy, and the way his teeth worried at his lower lip made Bucky want to lunge across the table. “Oh, I’m interested. So, full names?”

"James Buchanan Barnes," Bucky said, extending his hand. Tony shook it, answered with, "Anthony Edward Stark."

They were still holding hands, the shaking part having stopped, and Bucky found himself saying, “that sounds familiar.”

Tony took his hand back, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, his smile suddenly self conscious. “Wait. Stark. Tony  _Stark_?” He lowered his voice, “as in, Stark Industries?”

"That’d be me."

"Wow, I’m an idiot," Bucky blurted. Tony looked up, his eyes wide, expression vulnerable. "Ever since shipping back I avoid the news like the plague. But, um, the guys at group, they talk, and someone mentioned your company recently. Some big scandal and change in the direction of the business?”

Tony squirmed. “That’d be Stane.”

“It never even occurred to me to, I dunno, Google embezzlement cases.”

"I’m glad you didn’t," Tony answered, head down. He was fiddling with their straw wrappers, looking about two seconds away from bolting.

Knowing what he knew now, so much of what they’d talked about made a completely different sort of sense. All the little ways Tony had expressed his loneliness, and trust issues. All the times he’d thanked Bucky for listening and caring, without expecting anything in return.

“You decided to stop manufacturing weapons, and work on bionic limb technologies.” Tony’s ears turned pink, which was just stupidly adorable. Bucky grabbed one of Tony’s hands, covered it with his own. “You told me you were a mechanic.”

Tony looked up guiltily, until he saw Bucky’s smile, and relaxed again. “Well, yeah, more or less,” he said with a shrug. “Are you mad?”

"No, Tony," Bucky answered, squeezing his hand. "I am curious, though. Are you gonna grow the beard again?"

Tony laughed, the last of his nervousness seeming to leave him. “Why, got a thing for beards?”

"For sexy ones, yeah."

Tony’s smile was bright enough to light up the room, and unable to help himself, Bucky reached out, and stroked along the curve of Tony’s jaw, enjoying the way Tony’s eyes flashed in response.

"Guess I’ll grow it back, then."

Bucky caught some of the pizza shop patrons giving them dirty looks. Steve would kill him if he got into a fight, and considering his date was a celebrity of sorts, Tony might not be too happy about it, either.

He thought about his and Steve’s shitty little apartment, thought about the mansion or penthouse Tony surely lived in. It’d be easy enough to psych himself out, but he already _knew_  Tony. The last thing he was going to do was treat him the way the rest of the world did—he knew how that felt, and it sucked. No way was he disappointing Tony like that.

"Wanna head back to my place for some coffee?”

+

Bucky turned on the lights, tossed his keys in the bowl by the door, hung Tony’s coat up for him, and then…

Then he turned back around, found Tony standing there in his living room, smiling and studying Steve’s work—their walls were covered with his art—hands in his pockets, looking beautiful and relaxed and like he belonged there. So, really, he didn’t have a choice, he _had_  to close the distance between them, and tilt Tony’s chin up, bring their mouths close, stare into his eyes for permission, hoping…

But he shouldn’t have doubted, because Tony surged forward that last little bit, one hand curling around Bucky’s waist, fingers of the other sliding into the hair at the back of Bucky’s neck, so that he shivered as his lips parted, but then Tony’s mouth was against his, and they were kissing, and it was  _amazing_.

Bucky pulled Tony closer, lost to the feeling of his lips, the lingering taste of pizza, the way Tony felt pressed against him. So very lost to the moment that he didn’t think twice before wrapping the prosthetic arm around Tony, hugging him close, because there was so much more to think about, and feel, and experience.

Tony kissed like he might not ever get another chance to, which was sort of overwhelming in a really wonderful way. Bucky kissed him back like he had all the time in the world, and planned on doing this every day for the rest of his life.

Bucky had no idea how long they stayed that way, swaying together, Tony warm and wonderful and real and in his arms, murmuring encouragement against his lips, but eventually they were hugging, just clinging to each other, Tony’s breath warm against his neck, the smell of his shampoo in Bucky’s nostrils.

“I’m keeping you,” Bucky said softly.

“I can live with that.”

“Want coffee?”

Tony squeezed him a little tighter, pressed a kiss just below Bucky’s ear. “The answer to that will always be yes.”

Bucky shuddered, thought of the countless times he’d jerked off to the sound of Tony’s voice. It was even better like this, feeling Tony’s breath against his skin, their bodies pressed together, smelling him, tasting him, knowing he was desired, desiring in turn, but feeling wonderfully relaxed and lazy about it all.

So he kissed Tony’s cheek, then shuffled off to make them coffee, unable to wipe the stupid, lovesick smile off his face. He was only in there for a minute before his pocket vibrated, and he pulled out his phone, expecting to see a message from Steve, but instead it was from Tony.

_Thanks for saving me._

Bucky caught himself preparing to reply, then laughed, walked into the other room, and kissed Tony all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> The story is continued in [Wait and See](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3850747/)!


End file.
